You want to make me feel better? Provide me with someone I can murder. Some scumbag tied to a chair. Pleading to b let go, pleading but I’m not moved. I’ll pull out my blade and carve out my pain. Listen to his screams, listen as he crys until he knows my pain. Until we are brothers in pain. Until he begs for death. Yes my brother, I’ll grant you the cessation of pain that I cannot have. The blade Slipping underneath the sternum. Into your heart. As you die, I am empty.
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Morning thought
It is said that the one thing you cannot give up to get your hearts desire is, in fact, your heart. I note that my hearts desire is love. In whatever form or forms that may take. And to truly have love, one must, perforce, give all of one’s heart. Or such is my understanding. So to be in a position to have your hearts desire, by giving up your heart. Fills me with both a hollow dread that I may make such a choice and a perverse black glee at such a situation.
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Lament
Too sensitive and Brutal by turns
dismissive in arrogance
ego marring the surface
like a bruise on an apple
masked faces and subtle grimaces
fooled into false give and take
a giant dancing and clapping in the garden
an oaf crushing what was cultivated
scaring the wildlife
moment passed
shrunk back down to familiar sadness
wearing the form of the wise hermit
the truest mask I wear
I want it to be the wise hermit, but I fear it is the oaf
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Explicitly clear
In case I have not made this explicitly clear. Or a friend that reads this blog thinks that is just a writer’s technique.
Let me make this explicitly clear.
I am Pansexual.
What this means differs from person to person. There is a textbook definition but I am not a textbook person. Textbook definitions lack a humanity that I find unsettling. If you need it, fuck, you’re on the internet. Find one.
To me this means that:
I am physically and emotionally attracted to both men and women.
I am physically and emotionally attracted to men who are(identify as) women.
I am physically and emotionally attracted to women who are(identify as) men.
I am physically male and I identify as male.
I am physically and emotionally attracted to men who don’t identify as women but who do dress as women except for those guys that dress as women but don’t shave their facial hair. Come on guys, at least try.
I am physically and emotionally attracted to women who don’t identify as men but dress as men except for those that don’t shave their facial hair. I might just not like facial hair. I’ll need to exam that.
So to conclude, if you are walking around, and you are human(because I haven’t met any aliens, but who knows maybe?), I’m probably into who you are.
I am in my mid thirties, I am overweight but working on it, I am way too into posting to this blog. And I tell people I love them way to soon and easily. (there are levels of love people, at least for me. This sends people running before I can explain that.)
So that’s it, I am a poet, a writer, a book nerd(scifi/fantasy mostly), I’m on my computer alone at 4:23 in the morning and I’m pansexual. I should probably stop watching Dan Savage and go to bed.
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Midday poetry
I say I love rain and I dance in it;
I say I love sun and I soak in it
I say I love wind and I spread my arms, lean into it and pretend I can fly
So when I say I love you, be assured, it is nothing more than truth
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Wonderland
Should I fade by cycles and turns;
roses and thorns,
by times bloody minute
and hopes shallow yearn
tunelessly humming
anticipation
a mourning of cupfuls and dancing spirits
a carousel drone
complicated pleasures and simple pains
my life building to crescendo
it whirls the drain
and minute by minute I’m back here again
back in my body exhausted and bound
I’m drinking down glory
breathing in wine
a moment of passion, a moment of time
a flood of memories
not all of them mine.
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Musing
I have been insular for a long time. I have a strange impulse (to me it feels strange) to reach out and text or talk to her. Even though we are essentially waiting for her schedule to free up and I know that, and I know there is nothing really to be done about it. I still feel this desire to reach out and touch base with her. Like I’m not sure if she’s real. And even though it’s via text, to somehow hear her voice. Is that cloyingly sweet or just emotionally honest?
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This word ‘generation,’ I do not think it means what you think it means
Culturally I would say a generation lasts +or- 5 years. Those at the outer edges may share cultural touchstones and thus identity with other generations. While those towards the center will identify with those within their own group more readily. When you start examining those further out you see that ideas transmitted by popular culture differs sufficiently to discern generations. Of course, if we go further back to when media and thus what allows culture to be transmitted was slower to reach enough people to reach enough mass to be considered a generation, we see a shift in the time frame. Indeed without media or a strong tradition of iterent storytelling, this concept of generation becomes thin. But for the purposes of modern(read 100 to 120 years) cultural shifts +/- 5 years works well.
The people who make up these things drive me bananas.
NPR launched a new series on “millennials” yesterday, called “New Boom,” with this dramatic declaration: “There are more millennials in America right now than baby boomers — more than 80 million of us.”
The definition NPR gives for this generation is “people born between 1980 and 2000.” And it’s true there are more than 80 million of them. In fact, there are 91 million of them, according to the 2012 American Community Survey data you can get from IPUMS.org.* That’s OK, though, because there are only 76 million Baby Boomers, so the claim checks out.
But what’s a generation?
The Baby Boom was a demographic event. In 1946, after the end of World War II, the crude birth rate — the number of births per 1,000 population — jumped from 20.4 to 24.1, the biggest one-year change recorded in U.S. history…
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Check out Psych
Breaking my rule about posting out of schedule
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Lost in my thinking
You ever wonder why your friends are your friends? It generally starts with shared interests, then shared memories, then shared secrets. But what holds those friendships together? What happens when those shared interest wain? When Life events start to, inevitably, pull you from similar paths. when secrets are out in the open? What is left but a shared past and a desire not to be alone. How tenuous it all seems. How fleeting. You step from day to day. Maybe looking forward to something, the next book in a series, the next album. We fill our lives with such trivia. Our friends are still there, living their lives. You remember them, and maybe talk to them occasionally but your lives are no longer intermingled. Not day to day. Holidays, birthdays. Remind yourself to stop and chat. forget. You’ll have tomorrow. Day by day, drifting apart but fooling yourself into believing they are still a part of your life. Because you need them there, occupying that headspace. Just another piece of the social tapestry, the illusion of our lives. I could make the case that you should call them now; reconnect. But really, if you were going to do that, you would be doing it. No impetus from me would be necessary. So the decision time comes. To maintain the social fiction, OK but not happy. Ok but saddened. Broken and not mending; Or to forge new friends, to share your life with. Easier said than done. Perhaps there is a third choice, but the only one I see is death. For me, a solution I often see first. Maybe you know what the third choice is? I just can’t see it.
Pelgris 